


Love, Slowly Forged (The Shared Connection Remix)

by amyfortuna



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gandalf Meddles, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Remix, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-25 19:00:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12042219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: Celebrimbor has been wondering about his cousin Maeglin for two Ages of the world.





	Love, Slowly Forged (The Shared Connection Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zdenka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zdenka/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Silver Vine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8264336) by [Zdenka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zdenka/pseuds/Zdenka). 



The story came down to the Isle of Balar from the survivors of Gondolin in the Havens of Sirion: the tale of Maeglin, fine and fair smith, betrayer of Gondolin, son of Aredhel. Celebrimbor's second cousin. 

Celebrimbor had few enough cousins: no first cousins at all, and only Idril, Finduilas, and Gil-galad for second cousins, before Maeglin. He knew Idril from their youth, as they were only five years apart in age, close enough to play together as children, though those times were rare as their families became more and more estranged. Finduilas he knew well from Nargothrond, had counted her a dear friend, and mourned her death. Gil-galad, the youthful King he had pledged his service to upon arrival in Balar, was friendly and courteous, and bid fair to become a dear friend. 

Maeglin, betrayer or not, was kin. And Celebrimbor was related to far too many who were called betrayer and traitor to be unnerved at being related to yet another one. Maeglin was the mystery, the dark and gloomy soul who fell into the hands of the Enemy, who was turned and twisted from his right purpose, and sent back as an instrument of the Doom of the Noldor. 

The tale, sparse as it was, remained in Celebrimbor's heart for hundreds of years. In the hands of his own Enemy at the last, some small part of him rose up in wrath knowing that he was not the first of his family and generation to face torture at Sauron's hands. The thought of how Maeglin must have suffered somehow gave him a small portion of the strength he needed to endure. 

When he returned to life, more than an Age after his death at the hands of Sauron, he wandered aimlessly for a time in a dark forest near the gates of the Halls of Mandos, figuring out how his new body worked. He lived off the land, picking berries to eat, drinking fresh water from the streams that flowed through the forest. And he spent time in thought. What did life hold for him now, back in Valinor, a place he felt he scarcely knew? Were his hands, once broken and battered under torture, still capable of forging beauty? 

He came at last to the conclusion that he owed it to himself to try, and after a time, made his way to Tirion, and the house of his grandmother. He sought out others of the Returned -- his father's cousins Finrod, Aredhel, Turgon, and Fingon. He went to Tol Eressea and spoke with Elrond and Galadriel, newly come across the Sea, and their guests, the hobbits Bilbo and Frodo. 

"Hail and well met!" Frodo said courteously, when Elrond introduced them. Celebrimbor looked into Frodo's eyes, the memory of pain lingering there, and felt how it echoed his own. He blushed, feeling that Frodo's pain, in some measure, was his fault. 

But Elrond was perceptive, and spoke quietly. "Here is one who has endured the torments of Sauron even as you have, Celebrimbor." 

"If not for me, you might never have had such torments to endure," Celebrimbor said, looking at Frodo. 

"You suffered too, they tell me," Frodo said. "You were tortured at Sauron's own hand. Few there are who can say such a thing, and I am not one of them. All I did was endure the Ring, and at the last I failed."

"Who would not?" Celebrimbor said, thinking with a wince of Maeglin, long ago and far away, in a land that was lost. "I locked the memory of the Three away before Sauron ever touched me, or I would have given the information up too." 

The conversation drifted on to other matters, lighter in import, but the seed of memory had been planted.

When Celebrimbor returned to Tirion, he sought out Aredhel and spoke with her often of Maeglin, until he felt that he knew him, as much as anyone could. He was a fine smith, and a fair and beautiful man, who looked like her, who had suffered much. 

Slowly Celebrimbor built up his forge-work, until his hands were the hands he remembered, strong and callused, until he could create beautiful things once again. And ever Maeglin was on his mind, still enmeshed in the Halls, still waiting. Years went by.

One day Celebrimbor grew restless. He could not pour his attention into his work as before. There was some quality in the air that changed around him, and he called out to it. "Maia or spirit, or whatever you may be, show yourself to me!" 

A old man, as it were, in white robes, formed before him, smiling. "Well spotted, Celebrimbor!" he said. "I am Olorin." 

"I have heard you spoken of as Gandalf, and also Mithrandir," Celebrimbor said. "What would you with me?"

"Those are my names too," he said. "But today I bring news, and I hope the news is good. Maeglin, your cousin, is to be released from the Halls of Mandos soon. He has been much on your mind."

"He has," Celebrimbor said, but when he looked up again, Olorin was gone. After a short time, Celebrimbor set aside what he was doing, cooled his forge-fires, and left his forge, carrying only a skein of silver wire, wearing only light garments and a cloak fastened with a silver brooch. 

He wandered again into the forest where he had spent many days before, and drifted aimlessly through the trees. Sometimes he sat and made shapes of the silver wire, of birds and beasts and Elves and Men. 

One morning, he saw a dark shape approaching through the trees as he sat leaning back against one. When the Elf's face appeared, he knew who he was instantly. No one else could be so like Aredhel. 

"There you are," he said. "I was looking for you." 

"But you do not know me," Maeglin replied. The cadence of his voice made something in Celebrimbor's heart turn over. He smiled and began to twist the wire he held, forming the shape of a vine. 

"You are my cousin Maeglin," he said, and his voice sounded more confident than he felt, for his heart was beating violently in his chest. "Recently released from Mandos, I am told." 

Maeglin stared at him. "Cousin?" he asked. 

Celebrimbor smiled. "I am Celebrimbor, of the house of Fëanor. So you see I have not come to reproach you." He hoped the warmth and welcome in his voice shone through, and that the eagerness and longing did not, not just yet. 

Maeglin took another step toward him. "Why did you look for me?" he said after a moment. 

Celebrimbor looked up from the wire-work, and set it down. He extended his hand, much as one would to an animal that needed soothing. "I wanted to meet you, cousin," he said. He was gratified to see Maeglin approach and take his hand, sitting down beside him. "I wanted to ask you--" Celebrimbor began to speak again as Maeglin settled down, but looked him full in the face, and was suddenly, utterly, breathless at the sight of him. His cousin was beautiful, breathtakingly so, and he wondered how the tales never told of this. 

He ran a hand through his hair, looking away, a blush rising to his cheeks. Once his heart stopped pounding like it wanted to leap out of his chest, he turned back. "You are a smith also, are you not?" he said. "Will you show me your work?" He handed Maeglin the wire, and Maeglin took it, pondering for a moment, and then beginning to work on it, skilled fingers moving swiftly to shape and curve it. 

His hands were beautiful, as much or more so than his face. Celebrimbor couldn't help but think of those hands on him, moving softly over his body to coax out cries of desire. He couldn't breathe for wanting, and had to look away again. Finally he was able to speak once more. "I wanted to ask you," he said, "if you will come back with me." He couldn't keep a certain breathiness out of his tone, and hastened to cover it. "I believe your mother will be glad of your return, but if you do not wish to go to her yet, you are welcome to stay with me. And in any case, you are welcome to work with me in my forge. Will you come?"

An eternity seemed to pass as Maeglin looked from Celebrimbor's face to the finished vine and back again. At last he nodded with a soft smile. "I will come," he said.


End file.
